


we two together stand

by Hinterlands



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: But whatever, F/F, Trespasser DLC, ataashi spends most of this agonizing over MARRYING HER, given that the only personal interaction is towards the end, i'm not certain this should be in the relationship tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 14:31:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6011311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinterlands/pseuds/Hinterlands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The topic of marriage is not one Ataashi knows how to navigate; Cassandra is not helping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we two together stand

The Winter Palace, Ataashi decides, is much more _hospitable_ in the light of day.

(The silvered stretches of hallway and blue-barded ballroom of two years past are the afterimage of a nightmare, by now, an oily stain upon the memory; it was lovely then, of course, as most things in Orlais are lovely, a towering fixture that sprawled and loomed, capped in gold, radiant in the light of the waxing moon—and, like most things in Orlais, the structure’s charm an illusion. There were serpents enough lying in wait that night, shadowed by dusk and decadence, envenomed fangs in every curled, sneering mouth.)

The palace still glistens under the silken shimmer of the noon-high sun, but minutely, a ripple of sunbeam on still water rather than a wreath of silver shine, indistinct enough to obscure the weave of machinations overlaying the wide, glistening tiles of the floors; it seems less the center-point of a thousand entangled plots laid bare like this, every serpent basking in the open, wrought-gold masks all aglitter. A modicum of grudging honesty introduced.

There are introductions to be made, of course, and itineraries to follow, and preparations to oversee, and an endless procession of names to remember and hands to shake, potential ally and foe all eddying together in a maelstrom of supple leather gloves and heady perfume, but the bulk of that work falls upon Josephine. Ataashi knows that her stumbling tongue will be of no use in navigating the mire of politics this will become, and resents it, but Josephine has steered her through tensions greater than this in the intervening years, surely. They must all simply find a little faith.

(Her apologies on the long road here were many, and the assertion that she should have tried harder to master the soft, imprecise southern tongue while there was time is still lodged somewhere towards the back of her jaw, sharp and bladed, but Josephine would have none of it; in the end, Ataashi could only kiss her for luck, trace patterns in the satin of her cheek that meant nothing but the most fervent gratitude.)

For better or worse, the day is hers; she luxuriates in it, the sun and space and cloying perfume of the rose-bushes dotted around the courtyard, buds just opening to the warmth of the sun. There are reunions to be had among them; Varric, grayer around the temples, laugh lines crinkling the corners of his eyes; Sera, light-handed and quick-fingered as always, mouth flecked with beer-foam; Leliana, Cullen, Dorian, Bull, all of them bearing the marks of passing years, iron-wrought backs still sagging with the stress of the Age. A scant moment with each of them in turn, long enough to bump shoulders, grunt greetings, condense the hundredfold events of long weeks ago into a few stifled sentences. All accounted for—except Cassandra.

It’s a strange enough place she’s chosen to wait out the day; a slender pseudo-balcony bordered by trellises tangled over with climbing ivy, stunted trees dotting the spaces between stairs and benches. Ataashi’s footsteps ring off the stone, slow and even, shoulders loose, head cocked, a low sound of greeting clawing at the back of her throat; the Seeker, however, whirls around with a startled _Ah!,_ all wide eyes and taut cheeks. A twinge of concern spreads behind the slats of Ataashi’s ribs. “Are you not well?”

“No! Well, I…wanted to speak with you.” Cassandra clears her throat effortfully. “And now you’re here.” A casual tone affected as she steps forward, though her voice pitches up half an octave on the last syllable regardless. “…Maybe you should sit.”

“I should?”

“…Maybe _I_ should sit.” Cassandra turns away, and Ataashi shifts on her heels to follow; there’s probably some addendum in the incomprehensible and rigid scripture of human politeness that deems it ill-mannered to stand while another is seated, after all. Cassandra is all hard lines of tension for a long moment, counting breaths, before she turns to Ataashi and says, in a sudden burst: “Inquisitor, I want you to know that I am your friend. I will _always_ be your friend.”

A smile touching the corners of the vashoth’s lips, trending them upward. “I—”

“So I hope to give you sound advice on this _momentous_ day.” Cassandra is silent for the scantest of moments, hardly long enough to draw breath, before she continues, fiercely: “Do what is in your heart, my friend! No matter what anyone might tell you.”

Ataashi arches a brow, shifting her hips against the cold of the stone step seeping through her breeches. “This is good advice, but advice for…what, that is coming?”

An exasperated noise grates at the back of the Seeker’s throat as she throws her hands into the air, fingers splayed. “I’m talking about _marriage!_ You’re going to propose to Josephine, are you not?”

For a moment, stillness, silence, Ataashi’s jaw working dumbfoundedly as she attempts to chew over the enormity of the concept. _“Am_ I _?_ Why has no one told me? This is a thing that is common to humans? A surprise engagement?”

For a moment, Cassandra can only goggle at her, though her brow sinks after a heartbeat of reflection, lips pressed into a thin scowl. “…You’re not proposing. To anyone.”  
  
“And now I am _not_?”

The Seeker’s thrust herself onto her feet with an alacrity that startles a grunt from the vashoth, gauntleted hands clenched into fists and held before her, wavering slightly. “I am going to _kill_ Varric. Why do I believe everything he says? _Why_?”

 _“Varric_ has decided I am to marry Josephine?” Iron-grey skin pulls taut, tenting over the vashoth’s cheekbones as she furrows her brow, gravity playing at the edges of her mouth. “Can he do that?”

“No,” Cassandra says with a quiet sound of bemusement. “He cannot _decide_ anything. He…mentioned a proposal, and I suppose I filled in the blanks.” Her face contorts slightly, a paroxysm of annoyance. “Or he did this on purpose. That dwarf gets entirely too much joy from my discomfort.”

“So I am _not_ marrying Josephine?”

“That,” Cassandra replies, with fond exasperation coloring her voice, “is entirely up to you.”

Ataashi drums her fingers against her thigh, head cocked, horns scraping the air. “It…is typical of a human noblewoman to be married by now. Yes? She was…” Her lips twist, eyes rolling back slightly, as if searching the fringes of her consciousness. “Betrothed! Yes, betrothed.” A self-satisfied rumble. “And I interrupted that. The correct thing to do would be to marry her now.”

“I cannot say it would be the _correct_ course of action, but there are certain…expectations. You have not thought of it over the past two years?”

“No. We have been busy since you left.” Ataashi pats the space beside her invitingly, and Cassandra does her best to shake the tension from her shoulders before settling in, perched on the edge of the pristine marble ledge. “Your Common is much improved,” the Seeker observes, eliciting a brief grin from Ataashi, teeth winking white, edged with tentative pride.  
  
“I practiced. _Every day,_ Josephine said to me, and mostly by myself. But she was a great help, and now we are conversing. Sera still talks much too fast, though.” Ataashi nods to herself, broad arms folded against her chest, fingers curled in towards her palms. “…Do you believe I should marry Josephine?”

“I believe that you should do what you think is best.” Cassandra rolls her shoulders in a loose shrug, hands hanging between her knees, a slight smile flickering across her face. “You have won her hand already."

(Whirling ‘round the square with saber in hand, cat-footed, lips pulled back from teeth in a rictus snarl, thin rends in the fabric of her jacket, taste of copper on the back of her tongue, skin painted with rivulets of sluggish scarlet. She’s _fought_ and won, at that.)

Cassandra’s gloved fingertips soft against her knee, the smile in her voice palpable. “Being Inquisitor has brought you good things, _many_ good things. But only a few have been by your choice. Take what happiness you can from those, and do not let them go. That is all I meant to say. Advice from a friend, for the days to come.”

Ataashi lays one hand atop hers, feeling wrinkles in the leather rub against her calloused palm, the pressure of it carrying a certain weight of gratitude. The silence engulfs them for an infinite heartbeat, outside of time, unburdened, before Ataashi brings herself to shift again, shatter the bubble of calm, clearing her throat sharply. “Then…I believe I know what I must do.”

“I would hope so,” Cassandra says simply, as Ataashi releases her tentative grip on her hand, pushes herself, ponderously, to her feet. One long, fluttering breath, eyes turned to the light of the dying sun, before she wills herself to move, one step, another. She knows what she must do.

 _(_ _”Varric has decreed that we are to marry,” Ataashi informs Josephine_ _later, when a closed door affords them a modicum of privacy, when Josephine allows herself a heartbeat free of anxious fluttering to breathe; the ambassador is startled into laughter that Ataashi leans in to swallow, lips warm against hers, honeysuckle-sweet._ _“Then I suppose we must set a date,” Josephine manages between kisses, one hand curled against Ataashi’s chest. A knot unfurls somewhere in the pit of the vashoth’s stomach, and, wordless, she presses her bony forehead to the silk of Josephine’s, murmuring assent, eyes alight with adoration.)_

**Author's Note:**

> This is about 1600 words of practically nothing, but I had a little kernel of an idea of how Ataashi (completely unused to most human customs, given that she was raised among a fairly insular community of tal-vashoth for the majority of her life) would react to Cassandra's little marriage talk in Trespasser, and, well- this happened. 
> 
> Regardless, happy Galentine's Day! There's another little something featuring these two I want to scribble out soon, so keep an eye out.


End file.
